“But Tom is my protector. What could you do if Mr. Carroll comes after me?”
“Mr. Carroll?” said Trixie. Her face lost color. “Oh, child, what could anybody do against Mr. Carroll?”
“I want to stay here,” Maggie said. She sniffed and looked at Tom, who went into the office and came back carrying a box of generic tissues, which he offered to her. She took several and blew her nose on one.
“If Mr. Carroll comes here—”
“Call me, Trix,” said Tom.
She stared at him. A moment edged past. She blinked and lowered her gaze. “All right,” she said to the floor.
Tom took Maggie’s hand and led her up the steep narrow stairway.
The upstairs hall was dark and smelled musty and damp. Tom reached up and pulled the chain on a hanging light bulb, which lit to show a bare board floor and stained wood walls. He frowned at the chain, realizing it was too high for Maggie to reach; somewhere there must be an extra piece of string to tie to it.
He opened the door to his room and stood aside so she could enter. The room had a window at the far end, its only good feature. A small radiator lurked below the window. Ancient wallpaper with stripes of small fading flowers covered the walls, unpatterned at points by water and other mysterious stains. Against the left wall stood his bed, a camp cot with a foam pad and some blankets on it. Against the right wall was his dresser, a tall, square-edged, substantial piece of furniture painted pink. He also had a card table and a folding metal chair, and a doorless alcove of a closet where several shirts and pairs of pants hung above a neat line of paired shoes.
Tom studied his room as a stranger might. He scratched his head.
“You live here?” asked Maggie.
“I spend most of my time in the bar, or working around town. This is just for sleeping.”
“I don’t think your wife’s going to be very happy with this.”
“Neither do I.” He took her down the hall to the bathroom. It had two stalls in it, like a public rest room, and no shower. She went to the large sink and peered into the mirror above it. The silvered backing was flecked with tiny whirlpools, as if the glass lay flat over boiling water, but she could still see herself. Her face looked swollen, her eyes puffy, and her cheeks red. She splashed cold water on her face and turned to Tom. “Where do we wash?”
“I take showers at the high school, up the hill. The custodian lets me in after hours. Hmm. High school. Seriously, do you want to go?”
“Are we going to stay here long?”
“Probably not.” He listened inside, remembering the whispers that had invited him to town, the breathless waiting for something to arrive. The anticipation was gone. Fulfilled, he decided.—Home? he thought.
—Home goes with you, something answered.
“I don’t think we’ll stay. This is no place for you or Laura to live.”
“Don’t want to go to school here if we’re leaving right away. Tom…guess I think I’m following you. Staying with you. Is that all right?”
He stared at the floor, licked his upper lip. After a moment, he said, “Maggie, I just got married to a woman I only met yesterday.” He looked up. “I don’t know what she wants. If it was up to me, I’d say yeah, you can come with us. I can’t speak for Laura. Anyway, we’re having a baby. You know anything about babies?”
“Yes,” she said. “Had two little brothers and a little sister, and took care of them most of the time, until I ran away. Wonder if they’re okay.” She hugged herself and hunched her shoulders. “Shouldn’t have left them with Daddy.”
He watched the misery twist her face, and said, “Maybe we could—,” then had second thoughts. “I can’t think about this right now, Maggie. Right now I just want to find you a place to sleep. Maybe we can work on your family later.”
“If s not your problem.”
“I don’t think it’s yours either.”
She stomped across the floor, went to the window, and turned. A dark silhouette against the light, she said, “They depended on me, and I ran away and left them.”
“You’re not their mother. Could you have gotten away before this and gone back to them, anyway? Was that your fault?”
“Hitchhiking,” she muttered. “Daddy always told me never to hitchhike. Did it once, and look where I ended up. How could he be right about anything?”
Tom went out into the hall and began opening doors. A moment later Maggie joined him. They found closets cluttered with junk—wheel-less bicycle frames, an old baby buggy with a rotting fringed canopy, a stack of snow tires for a very small car, boxes of old books and random papers, stacks of Life and Time and National Geographic, a fleet of foot-pedal sewing machines. The air smelled of dust and rust and damp.
“I don’t think any of these other rooms has a window in it,” Tom said, when they had looked at all of them. “Maybe we could punch one through a wall. See a room you want?”
She picked the biggest one—about six feet wide and nine feet deep. Every room seemed to be a closet, although a lot of the walls looked like one-layer partitions put up long after the building had been built. Tom and Maggie cleared all the junk out of her room, dumping things in the room across the hall. Tom got out a broom and dustpan and swept the floor, waking ghosts of the dust of ages. He changed the hanging light bulb in the room to a higher watt bulb. “You need a bed,” he said. “Where are we going to get a bed? Maybe Eddie has an extra.”
“Could sleep on the floor.”
“You need blankets and stuff. Let’s go talk to Trixie.”
Maggie wiped her eyes with grimy hands, leaving dust streaks like bruises. “Tom, I don’t even have any other clothes, let alone a bath towel. Feel kinda…”
“Yes,” he said, when her pause lengthened. “Let’s go to the thrift shop. I’ve got thirty dollars in one of my shoes. We can buy you a few things. What did you wear out at the Hollow?”
“They had a big closet with all sorts of clothes in it, all sizes and fashions. It was creepy, as if generations of—of tanganar had lived and died and all that was left was their clothes. We picked whatever we wanted.”
Tom studied her Grateful Dead T-shirt, denim jacket, jeans, and red hightops. “Hmm,” he said.
“These weren’t mine,” she said. “Wore mine out, and got too big for them anyway.”
“Hmm. We better rinse off before we leave.” Tom looked down at his own ghostly white clothes. Not a speck of dust on the fabric, and it almost glowed in the dark. “Michael must have made these clothes self-cleaning.”
“Mr. Michael made something?”
“From scraps,” said Tom.
“How’d you get him to do that?”
“I think he likes me.”
She cocked her head and surveyed him. “Guess he might. Weird.”
They were scrubbing their hands and faces in the communal sink when Trixie called up the stairs for Tom. He dried his hands on paper towels and headed downstairs, wondering if he had a fare.
Aunt Agatha stood beside Trixie, looking owlish behind her glasses. She had lost what he had come to believe was a perpetual smile.
“Why did you run off?” she asked him before he even stepped off the bottom step.
“What?”
“Why did you run away when I told you to stay? How could you desert your bride? I thought you were a boy with manners. And I told you I wanted you to come to me for training. That wasn’t just a suggestion, boy. That was a decision from your Arkhos,”
Trixie, already pale, lost all color. Her eyes widened.
“Can we talk outside?” Tom asked.
“Why? You worried about Mrs. Delarue? She’s fixed to the floor; she won’t bother us.”
“What? What do you mean, fixed to the floor?”
“It’s a tool for difficult negotiations. Mrs. Delarue wasn’t giving me any answers until I used it. You stick their feet down—a power of earth, though others can master it—I wonder if you have it?—it takes all the fight out of them,
mostly, and the ones who are still feisty after that, you can step out of range. Come on, Tommy, come home.”
“I don’t belong out there, Aunt Aggie.”
She reached out and stroked his aura, her fingers rippling over it. “What’s this, what’s this?” she demanded, prodding a certain section.
Tom opened his Othersight eyes, and saw that she touched a silvery place he had not noticed before. He analyzed it. “Oh,” he said after a moment. “Peregrine.”
“What?” Her eyes widened behind her glasses. She touched the silver again, then brought her fingers up to her nose and sniffed them. “A Presence uprooted itself?” She frowned. “It seems to me I have heard—” She paced away and came back, then turned away again. “Honored Presence—you desert us? Is it right that this boy leave the Hollow?”
—Will you grant me speech? Peregrine asked.
—You going to say yes to her?
—Yes.
—Go.
“Descendant, the homestead might not survive if the boy stayed there.” Peregrine’s voice, deep and rich, came from Tom’s mouth again. Trixie brought her hands up to cover her mouth.
Agatha looked at Tom a long moment. “Oh,” she said. “Thank you, Ancient. Farewell.” She turned and walked toward the outdoors.
“Aunt Aggie,” Tom said.
Agatha stopped. “I hate nicknames,” she said over her shoulder.
“Aunt Agatha, will you unglue Trixie’s feet?”
She turned around. “What about my niece, anyway? One night, one catch—not that we’re not grateful—but is that it?”
“She’s coming here in the morning. She wants to spend some time with her parents tonight.”
“So she stays lost to us?”
“I don’t think she’ll be so afraid of coming home anymore.”
“Very well.” She waved a hand, and Trixie stumbled, her feet free. Tom caught her, but she shrank from him, even as he watched Agatha rise in the air; he blinked back into Othersight and saw pale waves surge up out of the ground and support Agatha into the sky.
“You’re one of them,” said Trixie, trying to shake his hand off her arm.
“Easiest way to fight ’em,” he said. He released her.
She stood, arms crossed over her chest, her face distrustful. Maggie came down the stairs then. She touched Tom’s arm “Glad you didn’t go back with her,” she said.
“Not a chance—unless Laura needs help.”
“Child…you knew he was one of them?” Trixie asked.
“That’s how we got loose. He helped me and Eddie break away.” Maggie stepped back, hands on her hips, arms akimbo, and cocked her head, staring at Trixie.
Trixie frowned. “Miss Laura?” she said to Tom.
“My wife. Last night. Kind of a surprise! I didn’t go out there looking for any of this.”
“You’re a cousin or something, though, right?”
“No.”
She squinted at him. “No Bolte features,” she said. “How—?”
He shook his head, smiling. “Yeah. Why this town? Why now? I don’t know. Maybe it’s spirits. That’s what my new mother-in-law seems to think.”
“That thing Agatha talked to—your other voice—is that a ghost?”
“Yeah. One of theirs, and they’re scared of it.” He grinned. “They’re funny. They’re superstitious. They believe everything he says, and I think he’s been lying to them about me since last night.”
“You been possessed by a Bolte ghost, Tommy?”
“I possess him. He’s been coaching me on how to handle them. Trix, Maggie and I couldn’t find any bedding or even an extra bed. We were just going to the thrift shop to get her some clothes, but I don’t know if I can afford bedding, too. You got anything you wouldn’t mind loaning us?”
“What?” Trixie shook her head, as if trying to wake up. “You don’t understand. You’re a Chapel Hollow person now. You walk into the Everything Store, point to what you want, wait while they bag it for you, and walk out. They bring it out to the car, but they never, never do home deliveries.”
“I don’t have a credit card.”
“Hollow people don’t use credit cards. Nobody asks them to pay for anything anymore, and they grant shopkeepers and owners immunity in return. I remember in ’52, before Mr. Hal married Miss May, he stole a girl, the Everything Store manager’s daughter, but the store manager went out to the Hollow and talked to Mr. Israel, Mr. Hal’s father, who was Arkhos back then, and Mr. Israel got Mr. Hal to let go of the girl before she had a chance to get spoilt. Mr. Hal was always more of a beguiler than a spoiler, anyway. Girl didn’t want to be brought back and wasn’t happy till the come-hither spells wore off—took three weeks of misery.” Trixie’s gaze seemed fixed on one of the rafters down the garage.
“I’m not a Hollow person,” Tom said.
“Good as. Just tell ’em. Or wait ten minutes; everybody in town will know Miss Agatha came to visit you and left without you. Could see her flying from the interstate. Crazy old woman, doesn’t care what kind of stories she leaves behind.”
“They out prospecting for new fetches already?” asked a voice from the garage entrance. Tom turned and saw Sam, still in his civilian clothes.
Chapter 12
Trixie frowned. “Naw. Just visiting the new son-in-law,” she told Sam. Tom couldn’t tell if her voice held anger or fear.
“Whatcha talking about, woman?”
Trixie hunched a shoulder, glanced at Tom, then away. “Tom married Miss Laura, and Miz Agatha came out to take him back to the Hollow.”
“What’s he doing still here?” asked Sam.
Trixie looked at Tom again. He had his hands deep in his pockets, and he was standing unnaturally still. He could feel, almost see, new lines of alliance struggling to sort themselves out. He wished there was something he could do to keep Trixie on his side, but he couldn’t think of anything. She tilted her head and studied him a second, then said to Sam, “Miz Agatha listened to him and then left.”
“No! Miz Agatha listened to someone?” Sam gaped, eyes and mouth wide. Then he frowned. “Come on, Trix. Quit screwing around. What did Miz A. want?” He sounded anxious and angry.
Perplexed, Trixie looked at Tom. “What?” Tom said.
“You tell him.”
“Yeah, Tommy,” said Sam. “What’s your take on this?”
“Same as Trixie’s,” Tom said.
“You…married Miss Laura? That’s not what you said in the bar. Why’d she marry you? They never many outside their own kind.”
“No, they don’t,” said Tom, although he didn’t know whether they did or not.
“But—” Sam paled, and sweat beaded on his forehead. His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening, then relaxing. “No,” he said, “that doesn’t make any sense. Why would you hang around town so long instead of just going out there and roaring it up with the family?”
“I didn’t even know they existed.”
Sam took a deep breath and let it out. “You a Bolte now, and you meaning to live in town? How do you think folks will feel? No place’ll be safe.”
Tom sighed. “I’m finding that out. We’ll leave.”
“But—wait a sec. You got Eddie and the girl away? That mark is yours?”
Tom raised his eyebrows, surprised at Sam’s insight.
“You could stay here and protect us.”
“That’s not my job. That’s your job.”
“I could deputize you—get you on salary if you like. Hell, you wouldn’t need money. Whole town would let you sleep and eat free, and Miss Laura too. You stay on—give us all a brand, maybe?”
“Makes you mine,” said Tom.
Sam stared at Maggie. She had her arms crossed over her chest, and a defiant expression on her face. Sam’s eyes widened. “You said,” he began, focusing on Tom again, “you said no one touches her.”
“Sure did.”
“You gonna be a fleshmonger like the worst of them?”
“No. This child’s my daughter now—” He felt a strange golden twist inside, realized that this definition completed a search, label, and understand sequence that had been running ever since he met Maggie. He sighed with relief. “But I don’t think I want to adopt the rest of you.”
Sam shivered. “Listen,” he said after a moment. “I know I haven’t always been nice to you. But that’s not anybody else’s fault. Exempt me, if you want. But the rest of ’em—”
“They’re adults, they can leave if they like. They’re the ones who decided to live here.”
“You are one cold bastard.”
“Could be.” Tom glanced at the clock on the office wall. It was twenty minutes to five. It must have taken them a while to do all the shifting around upstairs. “Thrift store’s going to close soon. Maggie and I have to get going.”
“So sorry, your greatness,” said Sam, his face bitter.
Tom flicked his eyebrows twice and held the passenger door of Bessie open for Maggie, then went around to climb into the driver’s seat. “Trixie, you okay?” he asked out the cab’s open window.
She hesitated, then said, “I’m coming with you,” and climbed in next to Maggie. “Nobody’s going to need a taxi this afternoon. I bet you don’t know anything about shopping for a girl. And we can stop at my place afterward and find her a bed…Tom? I could put you all up, you know.”
Tom started the cab, looked at Sam, then backed away, raising dust. “You sure, Trixie?”
“Yes. You and Laura could have the boys’ room and Maggie could stay in my daughter’s room. I bet I even have some hand-me-downs Maggie could wear.”
“It sounds great. But what if we get visitors? Mag says distance means nothing to them.”
Trixie didn’t answer until they had pulled into the thrift store parking lot and Tom turned off the engine. “Tommy,” she said, “could you really deal with them? I haven’t seen you do anything.”
“He turned Mr. Carroll into a crow,” said Maggie.
“You did?” Trixie asked.
Tom pulled the key out of the ignition. “Peregrine says he’ll be harder to deal with next time. I caught him by surprise.”
The Thread that Binds the Bones Page 11